


A Delicate Truth

by ariel2me



Series: House Martell [25]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: The eldest, Prince Baelor, won the name Breakspear at the age of seventeen, following his famous victory at Princess Daenerys’s wedding tourney; he defeated Daemon Blackfyre in the final tilt. (The World of Ice and Fire)He did not perceive any crack in her smile, as she warmly applauded their nephew for his victory against the man she was said to love, and love not as a brother.(For the prompt: Maron and Daenerys.)
Relationships: Daenerys Martell/Maron Martell
Series: House Martell [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/52588
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	A Delicate Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [La Reine Noire (lareinenoire)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lareinenoire/gifts).



> Thank you for your prompt ❤️ I'm sorry this is so late!

He did not perceive any crack in her smile, as she warmly applauded their nephew for his victory against the man she was said to love, and love not as a brother. 

It was very fitting, Daenerys said, that the son of a Targaryen-Martell union should triumph at the tourney celebrating the wedding of another Targaryen-Martell couple.

“Perhaps your son will be the victor of the tourney celebrating my wedding,” Baelor said, with a smile, addressing Maron and Daenerys both.

His nephew’s smile reminded Maron of his late father. _Here is your oldest grandson, Father. The Prince of Dragonstone, the heir to the Iron Throne. It was in front of his father that I knelt and swore my oath of fealty, but it was the thought of him that spurred me on._

“You will be wed long before a son of ours is old enough to enter the lists, I’m sure,” replied Daenerys, as Baelor kissed her hand and called her “my good and gracious aunt.”

Maron concurred. There would be a wedding for the Prince of Dragonstone soon enough, to be sure. Myriah and Daeron had spoken of a bride from the stormlands or the Reach for their oldest son, to calm the waters of opposition to _this_ wedding and everything it symbolized.

The knight Baelor had defeated in the final tilt was frowning, Maron saw. Whether his frown was caused by the substance of Daenerys’s words, or by the fact that she was applauding the opponent who had defeated him, it was not so clear.

The Prince of Dorne did not attempt to hide his scrutiny of Ser Daemon. Daemon Waters as was, and now Daemon Blackfyre. The young man who bore Blackfyre, the Targaryen’s ancestral sword. The young man who was knighted when he was a boy of twelve, the youngest knight ever made in the realm since the Targaryens came to power.

His good-brother’s half-brother.

His lady wife’s half-brother … or perhaps more than that?

Daemon’s frown disappeared quickly enough, brushed away as if it had never been, by the time Daenerys turned her eyes in his direction.

“You did well, brother,” she told him, in the gracious tone of a princess, and the warm voice of a sister. “You were a formidable opponent to our nephew.”

Daemon replied, “I would not dare to claim him as my nephew, Princess.”

It was a very ambiguous remark, thought Maron. Daemon seemed to make a specialty of equivocal remarks. He said it humbly enough, as if he was referring to his position as the half-brother to Baelor’s father, instead of a full sibling like Daenerys herself. And yet, the fierce glint in his eyes made the Prince of Dorne wonder if Daemon Blackfyre was alluding to the malicious rumor that King Daeron the Second was not the trueborn son of the late King Aegon, but was the bastard son of the Dragonknight instead. 

The victor and the defeated both made their way to their own seats. The bride and groom ate in relative silence, at least at the start.

“Baelor used to pick blackberries for me, when my mother and I visited my brother and his family on Dragonstone,” Daenerys said, as a tray of blackberry tarts was served to the table.

“Did he address you as his aunt even then?”

“He did, though of course, he is older than I am. Our sister taught him to be a gallant and courteous prince.” Daenerys had spoken of Myriah as _‘our sister’_ even before their wedding.

“Did you and Baelor play together, when you were children?” Maron asked.

“Aerys and Rhaegel were my playmates, truly. And Maekar too, for a time. They were younger, and –”

“And therefore more biddable?”

Daenerys grinned. “I was not a bully, my prince. Though little Maekar did call me domineering, on one or two occasions. He was cross because he kept losing at monsters and maidens. You should have seen his face, after he failed to catch me for the tenth time.”

Maron chortled. Little Maekar was not so little anymore. He looked strong and formidable enough to be knighted at twelve, like Daemon Blackfyre himself. Maekar had applauded the loudest, each time Baelor broke another lance wielded by Ser Daemon.

“Maekar was your playmate only for a time? Did you quarrel with him?” 

“No, there was no quarrel. But he would not indulge in play since he was seven, when his father was denied Blackfyre.”

“That was when he swore to be his father’s sword, a sword greater than any ancestral sword.”

Daenerys looked up, surprised. “You know it too?”

“My sister writes to me.”

“Does she ever write about me?”

“She does, regularly.”

“Oh? What does she write about me?”

“Nothing that would displease you, my princess. She wishes me to know you well.”

“And do you know me well, my prince?”

“I know … some things. You were shy with Baelor, when you were younger.”

“I was, yes. I was more at ease playing with his younger brothers. Baelor always had a grave dignity, even as a young boy.”

“As befitting his position at the time, as the heir to the heir to the throne.”

“ _That_ he was. Though my father …”

“Your father would have preferred it if Baelor does not look so much like his lady mother’s side of the family?”

Daenerys nodded. She asked, “If our child – our oldest child, your heir – looks more Targaryen than Martell, would that trouble you, my prince? Would it make you think of the other Daeron, the Daeron who brought fire and blood to Dornish soil?”

“I would not treat him – or her, if our oldest child is a girl – harshly for it.”

“But would you be troubled by it, deep down?” Daenerys pressed.

“I hope not. I believe not. And yet, the truth is delicate at times. But I do know one thing for sure. How we act matters more than what is in the deepest recesses of our heart. The contents of our heart we may keep a secret forever, but our actions echo and reverberate, in the world at large. It is the way we act that has the potential to harm others.”

Daenerys smiled. “Myriah told you that.”

“She did. She must have told you the same.”

“I was asking her if she was ever fond of any man, before she wed my brother. She said the day she recited her marriage vows, she also vowed that she would never act in any way that would dishonor her marriage and imperil the peace that came as a result of that marriage. _‘What is in my heart, on the other hand, is not for others to know or to judge,’_ our sister said.”

Daenerys added, her eyes glancing at the king and the queen, “They look very happy, do they not?”

Maron replied, “Happier than they had been when they were first wed, yes. Much happier.”

“Perhaps happiness is as delicate a matter as the truth,” said Daenerys. 


End file.
